Conversation · Hand/Eye Coordination

Time to get my gun!

Alright, here's the plan: You hurl the ledger in her face -- already darting right -- and immediately close the distance. Left hand grabs the barrel, right one breaks the wrist...

...fingers lock behind her head, knee to the face, knee to the face, crush the ribcage, side-step and drop her with the hammer kick.

OH MY GOD, YES!!!!

No. That won't be necessary. Look closer. The gun, all three barrels, red and blue light shining through -- it's not loaded.

Hold on, why does that make me nauseous?

That knowledge comes from a very dark place.

How dark?

'Paint the wall with your brains' dark.

"Go ahead, pull the trigger. I dare you."

"SUICIDE BY COP! SPLIT-SECOND DECISION. EAT LEAD, SCUMBAG!"

OH MY GOD!!!!

"Situation is under control!" The lieutenant's voice rings over the police siren. "You're not shot, she's not a threat, everybody stay calm!"

I was 95% sure the gun is empty and still that instinctual muscle twitch could have ended in an unnecessary death.

"Wh... what is this?" The old woman looks at the treacherous weapon. "This isn't police issue. Police weapons have bullets. This isn't real!"

The gun lands on the wooden planks and tears run down her scratched cheeks. "Police guns always have bullets... What is this? Why did you sell me this?"

She looks devastated.

Grab the gun! Right now! This might be your ONLY chance.

(Pick up your gun.)

"No one ever cares anymore," her voice is growing fainter as she rocks back and forth, slowly. "Why would they cheat me like this..."

This limbed and headed machine of pain and undignified suffering is grinding to a halt. Tired of walking the desert, it doesn't want to feel or think anymore.

"Poor woman..." The lieutenant holsters his pistol. "We need to figure out what to do with her now."

"Nobody's ever around," the old woman mumbles, staring blank at the boardwalk, "nobody ever comes to visit me."

"You tried to kill me!!!"

"I don't think she actually..." The lieutenant shakes his head. "You're right of course. This could've been very bad."

He's trying not to think about how bad it could have been had the gun been loaded.

The person who did that is no longer there. No one is right now. The empty shell of an old woman is slowly rocking back and forth.

She's in a stupor. There's no telling when she'll snap out of it. If ever.

"Should we just arrest her?" (Proceed.)

"I don't think there's any need for that. In her current state -- and without the gun -- she isn't really a threat to anyone."

"We could let Titus know. This is a perfect problem for the local 'peacekeepers' to handle. They might even know her family."

"Wait, I was really hoping I can give her one of those station call slips..."

"That would just be a waste of paper. I mean look at her." His eyes travel back to the old woman. "She's not going to respond to a station slip."

"I don't want to endorse the Hardie boys' inflated sense of self-worth. They're not cops -- we are."

"Okay," he nods. "That settles it. I'll contact my station after we wrap it up for the day. They can contact the Sanitarium and handle the logistics."

"Oh, before we go..." The lieutenant pulls out your service pistol. "I believe this belongs to you."

"No, I'm really done with it. You keep it."

"Okay but..." He bites his lip and mumbles under his breath: "... probably couldn't change your mind anyway... Let's go then."

As you turn to leave, the faintest of voices comes from the woman. "Please, leave the radio on..." she mutters. It seems like a reflex, a half-remembered sentence.

Reflex to what? Being left alone?

Exactly. With only the voice of Gareth Morrand to accompany her on Channel 8.

She must have built a new -- sadly better -- reality from the only material available: radio waves and cop shows.

She stands motionless. Just a heap of clothes and flashers now -- maybe if you search her once more?

"Thank you, Kim. I do actually want my gun back."

"Of course. Understandably things got a bit hectic before. Don't worry about it." He smiles as he hands you the weapon. "Reunited at last. Let's go now."

"But I think we're done here for now. Let's head out, this is done."

"I think we can just leave her like this. She'll be fine."

"No," the lieutenant sharply interjects. "That is not an option. We'll either unload this to Titus and his guys or I'll ask for help from my station."

"Yeah, Titus sounds like the man for the job."

"Then we can ask him once we get back to the Whirling. But we have to hurry, cause it's late and they might have already gone home."

"I guess I'll just notify my station. They'll contact the Sanitarium and handle the logistics."

The catatonic woman -- especially now that she's unarmed -- doesn't seem to be a threat to anyone, but herself.

"Cross me again and I will bury you, Pigs."

Soon someone might have to. Doesn't look like there's much life left in her.

Take her to the farm. Put her down.

Quietly leave the old woman alone.

"Titus wants to be the sheriff, I'll tell him where to find you. Maybe he knows your family."

As you turn to leave, the faintest of voices comes from the old lady. It's but a reflex -- nothing else. "Please leave the radio on... Mr. Morrand is on Channel 8..."

"At ease, patrol officer Pigs, your heart is in the right place." (Bow.)

The catatonic woman doesn't understand -- probably even hear -- your kind words. She just is.